


Ouroboros

by inawasteland



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Past Lives, Prophetic Dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 08:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1851100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inawasteland/pseuds/inawasteland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In another life, Carolina is a graduate student of UNC working on a top secret project.  She has a happy life, reveling in the success of her soon-to-be-tested so-called "dream machine", a machine that is designed to unlock our subconscious and allow us to remember our dreams, and expand the potential of the human brain.  In an attempt to make sure she's ready to show her machine at an upcoming technological convention, she tests it on herself.  So why is she suddenly recognizing people she has never met before?  And why do the dreams she has been having ever since seem more like memories?  And more importantly, who has been sending packages containing confidential files to various recipients along with a note containing a phrase that seems eerily too familiar?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Carolina

**Author's Note:**

> Note: For the ease of comprehension, all characters (especially the Freelancers) will be referred to by their names in the webseries within narration rather than their given names within this universe.
> 
> Additionally, all chapters shift POV similar to A Song of Ice and Fire. The character name in the chapter title will correlate to whose POV the chapter is in. Pairings listed are subject to change as I continue to write and brainstorm.

When the mail comes that Tuesday afternoon, there is a heavy manila envelope sitting amongst the array of bills and junk that normally were neatly stacked on the side of a kitchen. Carolina is nowhere to be found, stuck once again at the University where she has been working endlessly on a project that only two people in the world both knew about and could understand what it was. Her bright red hair is pulled up in a ponytail as she fine tunes the calibrations on a computer that is hooked up to a huge contraption. To someone without the sort of knowledge that Carolina and the other gifted students possessed, it might look something like a hair dryer attached to the very first computer in all its gigantic glory.

With the young student so engross in her work, she didn’t notice that one of those two people had entered the facility where she had been granted access in order to work. It wasn’t until the man cleared his throat that Carolina got the hint to pause in her work and acknowledge the interruption.

“I’ve been told you may be ready for a demonstration. Got anyone lined up to be your guinea pig yet?”

It took considerable effort not to scrunch up her face in disgust at the man standing in front of her. But as the Director of Robotics at UNC, Carolina had to give him her full attention, especially seeing as how it was his grant that even allowed her to pursue this project of hers.

“I have not found a test subject, no. I don’t suppose you happen to know of anyone willing to open their mind up to my machine?” The casual raise of an eyebrow could have been viewed as a challenge, but if the Director had taken it as such he surely did not show it.

“I do not. Explain to me again how it works?”

A sigh of exasperation escapes her lips, as if she had offered this information thousands of times before, and she draws in a deep breath before launching into a hypothesis that she had all but memorized by now. In defending her idea to many people (and being rejected by a majority of those people) she had learned just how to recite her idea to make it evocative, seductive, and downright desirable to test. The mere fact that she had come this far, to build the invention that had for so long been stuck within the limits of her brain, itching to get out, was incredible, and she was not about to let a little setback like the lack of any test subjects get in the way. “You know we can’t test on animals. We need a human willing to do this and no evidence left behind just in case...”

By evidence, she of course meant paperwork. The idea was, if Carolina somehow failed and the test subject somehow didn’t survive, the project would be scrapped due to lack of funds or lack of interest. Carolina would not have a trail.

“You are so very lucky I believe in you. I believe I might have just the subject for this.”

 

￼￼￼★★★

When the Director leaves, Carolina is left with her own fine tuning. He had left a file with her, which she glanced at before returning to her work as soon as the close of a door could be heard several hundred feet in the distance. The poor soul, Carolina thinks to herself as she plugs in some numbers into the computer. For the Director to offer him up on a slab, he must really owe him a favor. As the numbers seem to add up, Carolina glances at the folder again, containing confidential material that is sure someone in the Director’s position shouldn’t have in his possession. She has learned by now to be careful around that man. Just because he supports her idea doesn’t mean jack shit. It just gives him power of her, power which she hopes she will regain as soon as she proves her theory correct and makes back all the money she owes him.

Curiosity gets the better of her, and she grabs the file, hopping into one of the more comfortable chairs in the laboratory. She throws her feet up on the table and leans back on the chair, thumbing through pages of some anonymous guy’s record with a few color photographs attached for good measure. There is something oddly familiar about this guy, but she can’t put her finger on it. She licks her finger to thumb to the next page, when all of a sudden -

“That’s just disgusting, you don’t know where that page has been. Come to think of it, that page doesn’t know where that finger’s been.” Carolina leaps up out of her seat, which almost fell backwards due to a very startled redhead.

“Jesus _Christ_ don’t you ever knock?” she sneers, her face almost as red as her hair. Whether it’s from embarrassment or anger though, the newcomer can’t tell just yet.

“Actually I did knock but you didn’t answer, and well, hello to you, too!” The man steps into the light and that is all the invitation Carolina needs before she throws herself at him and wraps her arms around his neck. The file that she was looking at previously has been precariously thrown aside for the time being.

“I’ve missed you, idiot,” she murmurs as she presses her lips to his cheek in what has become a very common greeting between friends. “How’s your sister doing?”

“She’s doing alright. Didn’t get the job placement she was hoping for, so I’ve been trying to keep her from vandalizing the building in retribution. Always a feisty one, she is.” The man smiles sadly, used to South’s whirlwind of a personality by now. When she was in a good mood, she was the best twin he could have asked for, but right now at her worst, she was downright ferocious. Luckily, her brilliance meant that most of the time she was at the uppermost part of the spectrum.

“Remind me never to get on her bad side. Really.” She ruffles a hand through his blond hair and shakes her head, letting out an uncharacteristic giggle. Only North gets to see her like this, all her walls lowered to let him into her world. It had taken years of careful navigating through what had originally been a rocky relationship to get to where they were at present. They had made sense from the start. They met in high school since both their parents made them take AP Physics - a decision Carolina sometimes regrets if only because that meant North was her only social life that year. After that, they were inseparable. Their intellect match nicely with each other and Carolina feels like she doesn’t have to dumb herself down at all around North. They are equals, plain and simple.

“You never do,” North replies with a shrug. “So long as I’m happy, she’s happy. And you? Well, I don’t think I have to tell you that you make me happy.” Those words make Carolina smile and she rolls her eyes, playfully punching at North’s shoulder to distract him from this gesture. It’s comfortable, being with North. He’s like a blanket, wrapping her up and keeping her content. He’s also her first and only boyfriend, so how was she supposed to know that there is more to a relationship than a straight line? The fact that they never fight is enough to keep Carolina from straying. If she has to take the downs with the ups, then Carolina is all too happy to keep away from them both.

“Yeah, well, you make me happy, doofus,” she counters, planting a kiss on his lips. There should be a spark, something exciting there, but there isn’t. Carolina idly wonders if this is how it was like for her parents before her mother was gone, if they lost that magic, if they even _had_ that magic in the first place.

“Then it’s settled. I’m taking you out tonight so you’d better put on your dancing shoes, Big Red.” Carolina wrinkles her nose at North’s nickname for her. Just because she happens to be sporting such bright red hair does not make her okay with being called such a name.

“Me? Big? C’mon now.” She shakes her head, but when North offers his hand, she can’t turn the invitation down and happily interlaces their fingers together. As he leads her out the door, her attention is on the file on the desk, still open to where she left it before North surprised her earlier. There’s a photo sticking out, of a man with a bald head and the letters “ME” are written on the tab.

Her last thoughts as she locks the door to the lab after North walks through the doorway are of that strange man and why she feels like she has met him before even though she knows how impossible that is.

He’s been in the state penitentiary for years, serving time for murder for the past two years. Naturally, that is why the Director thought he would be the perfect subject: easily forgettable and utterly dispensable.

Which is exactly why Carolina is not going to resort to that level. She would sooner test herself than subject someone the Director wants to get rid of, for one reason or another. It isn’t until North nudges her that she realizes that she hasn’t been paying attention to a word he has said for the past two blocks.

“Uh...sorry, just thinking about my stupid project and how I’m going to convince someone to let me run it on them.” The look that North gives her is one of concern, a look that Carolina has seen time and again. She almost feels sorry, except she loves knowing how much he must care for her to even _feel_ that kind of concern.

“You could always run it on me,” North responds nonchalantly.

Barely a beat passes before she answers with, “like hell you will.” Carolina knows there is the slightest possibility her contraption will fry the brain of whomever she runs it on first. As confident she is that the calibrations are correct, she still would never doom someone she loves to that potential outcome.

“Fine, fine. Now are you going to enjoy yourself or am I going to be dragging you around this whole time?” North looks at her with an expectant look and Carolina feels a pang of guilt. Most of the time, she is all work and no play. In fact, only North is really the one to be able to get her to let loose every once in a while.

Carolina realizes they have stopped in front of a building with blacked out windows. In neon lights she makes out one word: Errera.


	2. Church

There are some days when Church honest to god wonders how in the hell he got talked into living with Donut. These are the days when he usually comes incredibly close to calling one of his ex-girlfriends up and begging her to let him move back in with her. But they were not on such good terms, and Donut does all the cooking and cleaning and... _gardening?_ Church just doesn’t question anymore how Donut manages to have an honest to god garden when they live ten stories up.

Life with the guy is usually tolerable, but right now Donut happens to be in one of his musical theater phases and a guy can only tolerate sitting through West Side Story so many times before he goes crazy. Seriously, how Church hasn’t had dreams with Donut serenading him with “I Feel Pretty” is beyond his knowledge.

In fact, Church is about to sneak out of the apartment without Donut noticing (because the asshole will want to tag along, goddammit) when he notices a hefty envelope addressed to him sitting neatly on the table. He’s about to call out to Donut to ask if he knew when that thing arrived and why the hell he hadn’t bothered to tell Church, but it occurs to him that he doesn’t want Donut knowing what’s inside.

So, he does his best to sneak off to his bedroom without Donut noticing him and trying to drag him back to the couch. Oh, hell no Church is _not_ wasting another evening. He will just have to sneak out the fire escape from his window if he has to. But first, the package.

He uses the Swiss army knife that he keeps in his back pocket - “for emergencies, you never know when it’ll come in handy” - to cleanly open the package and pockets the object back where he found it. Dumping the contents onto his bed, there is a bundle of files along with a thumb drive. He glances at the package, but much to his chagrin, there is no return address.

“Who fucking sends a package like this and doesn’t put a return address?” he mumbles to himself. He thinks to see what’s on the thumb drive, but decides that he will only do so if the contents of the paper files are interesting enough.

He opens the file and squints at the photograph staring back at him. Where in the hell does he know this guy from? It’s downright creepy because Church definitely doesn’t remember ever meeting him. He finds a name, but “Tucker” doesn’t exactly ring a bell. Plus, he would have thought that he would distinctly remember meeting this guy before - he doesn’t exactly seem like he would blend in with a crowd between the ear lined with a variety of piercings and the hair that’s pulled back in braids and tied into a ponytail. He’s about to go to the next file but he hears a crash downstairs and decides that maybe he should fast forward to seeing what’s on the thumb drive, in case he needs to make a quick getaway.

There is some incredible irony in how long it takes his computer to boot up, and for a moment Church considers barricading the door, just in case. But then he also knows if he does crawl out through the fire escape, there would be no getting back into his room. Luckily, his computer finally behaves long enough for Church to put the thumb drive into one of the USB slots. When he opens the files, none of it makes sense. It looks like schematics for something and more photographs of various people he never met and yet it feels like he’s known them for ages. It’s an unsettling feeling, especially when the phrase “memory is the key” pops up in a text file.

This has to be a fucking joke. Someone is clearly pranking him. Either that or they got the wrong Leonard L. Church and just happened to send stuff that was meant for him.

A loud sob coming from the other room is enough motivation to get him moving, and so he pulls the thumb drive out and pockets it for safe keeping. He wants to get to the bottom of these strange documents, but first he thinks a little reprieve from his roommate in the form of getting mindnumbingly drunk might be in order first. Just in case Donut tries to sneak into his room while he’s out, Church does his best to hide the paper files, placing them in one of the drawers, under all of his socks. With Donut’s strange behaviors, Church wouldn’t be surprised if he would look through Church’s underwear, but not even think of moving his socks.

And it’s with that thought that Church thinks he really needs to get a new roommate.

￼￼￼

 

￼￼￼★★★

Drinking alone has never been his thing, and so Church texts one of his friends to beg him to come join him. The bar is packed and his friend is nowhere to be found for at least an hour before Church spots _him_. He would recognize his face anywhere, but it certainly didn’t hurt that he had just seen it in those pictures on the thumb drive. It’s not Tucker, the one with the dreadlocks, but one of the other ones and suddenly it’s hard for Church to breathe.

It’s like all the air is being ripped from his lungs, and it’s all too much and not enough all at once. It isn’t until he feels a hand on his shoulders that Church even realizes he looked visibly in distress to the rest of the bar.

“Hey Church, you okay?” He instantly relaxes when he hears Wash’s voice. “Sorry, I didn’t get your text, I was at work.”

Maybe he needs new friends _and_ a new roommate. Not that he doesn’t enjoy Wash’s company, but the guy never seems to be around. And when he is around? He’s always distracted with something. But like hell would Church ever tell Wash to get lost. Deep down, there’s some unspoken bond between them, something they never bring up. Dating the same girl will do that to you, Church supposes.

He remembers it vividly, the day he found out that Connie was leaving him. Not just leaving him, either, but leaving the country and, oh, by the way, she’s fallen in love with someone else. When Wash contacted him a month later to find out that Connie had left him with no money and had stuck him with an absurdly large hotel bill, Church wasn’t sure he wanted to kill him or Connie more.

But when he met Washington and the two hashed it out over a pint of beer, the oddball grew on him quite a bit. Maybe a little more than he would like to admit, but in truth he would not have made it through that rough patch without having a friend like Washington. All of his other friends had settled down and moved on and there Church was, remaining bitterly single and finding it incredibly difficult to trust anyone. The same could have been said for Wash, and thus, instant friendship.

But that’s all it is, a friendship, nothing more. He knows Washington feels the same way, there are too many complications in the way, and besides, they’re both too fond of women and just not fond enough of men.

“Maybe drinking here was a bad idea.” Church glances at the bar, as if trying to decide if he wants to stay in drink, and then glances at the exit. Maybe they should find another bar. A bar that doesn’t have that tall, dark-haired, muscular individual who seems to have quite the flock of ladies around him.

“Come on, how bad could it be? It’s no different from any other bar.” But the look that Washington gets from Church leads him to throw his hands up in the air. “Okay, okay, I know that look. Do you have anywhere else in mind then?”

“Not...really. To be honest I was trying to get out of the apartment. Donut is driving me crazy, but what else is new there?” He sighs, his shoulders tensing up as he breathes in deeply, trying to recall breathing exercises. He has such high anxiety, his therapist had relayed to him. He needs to remember to relax, to pull in all the energy he has and let it dissipate on exhale. Easier said than done.

“You don’t need to drink when you’re out of the apartment, you know. There are other things, things that might not kill your liver?” Church can always count on Wash to give him a lecture or two. Tack on another reason why this could only be a friendship.

“Well I’m all out of bright ideas, so unless you’d like to enlighten me with one of your own, you can save your breath.” Church can’t really remember where his anger stems from anymore. It just comes and goes in waves at this point.

“Let’s just wander around, see if any ideas come to mind outside.” The idea of mucking about aimlessly sounds boring, but then it does sound better than the suffocation he faces by sticking around here and trying to understand what it is about the familiar stranger that is getting to him so much. So he doesn’t even respond with words, more of a grunt that’s supposed to me “yeah, okay” and makes his way to the door. Apparently, Washington understands Church well enough by now that he knows not to question the strange quirks that come with befriending the guy.

As soon as he can feel fresh air on his skin, it becomes instantly easier to breathe again. He doesn’t need to look over at Wash to know that he’s worried about Church. How a friendship that should have been in its infancy had managed to transform into something of this magnitude over the course of mere months, not even years, Church has no idea. He slides his hands into his pockets since he’s not sure where else to put them. Wash is walking close enough to him where he can feel his warmth emanating off his skin without their bodies actually colliding mid-step. He almost forgets what it is that’s hiding in his pocket until the memory of what he had seen earlier came rushing back to the surface. He pulls out the curious object and turns it around in his fingertips.

“Guess it’s too late to run a, “is that a USB key in your pocket or are you just that happy to see me?” line on you, huh?” Wash teases with a sardonic smile. Church glances at him questioningly with a raised eyebrow. Come to think of it, when _had_ they reached this point where they could, for all intents and purposes, harmlessly flirt with each other and not think it too odd or out of bounds? This is something that perhaps reserved for the best of friends with only the most comfortable of friendships, but for someone who he only knew for max six months, it should seem weirder.

“Well, too late or not, yes, it’s a USB key,” Church replies finally, trying to dissipate any of the tension in the air that might have arisen as a result of his hesitation to respond to Wash’s comment. Maybe Wash was just a giant flirt. If they had any shared friends, that would have been an easier hypothesis to confirm, but Church? Well, Connie had taken all of his friends with her, and Wash hasn’t introduced him to any other friends. It always seemed like they just had each other after all this time.

“Should I even ask what you were doing with that thing at a bar with no computers?” Wash’s voice drips of sarcasm and Church just rolls his eyes and thinks for a moment about giving Wash the finger. He eventually decides against it.

“I didn’t want Donut sneaking through my shit and finding it. It’s bad enough I couldn’t take the rest of the package I received.” He isn’t sure if this is something he should be just telling someone else, but he doesn’t exactly have anyone else to confide in. He isn’t going to run to his roommate, that’s for fucking sure. Wash is the closest to someone he can really trust with this information and he knows he’ll explode if he doesn’t tell someone the strange package he received. “While we’re out here, could you do me a favor? Donut doesn’t exactly know I left, and, well...”

“Well? My place is more secure because I live alone?” Church regrets bringing it up immediately. The look on Wash’s face is devastating. Wash didn’t used to live alone and it’s clearly something he hasn’t been able to overcome. It’s a subject they tended to avoid.

“I just mean this shit looks highly classified and if Donut stumbles upon it? I don’t want the Feds to come crawling over my place. I’ve got... _private_ things in there.” Church avoids looking at Wash, knowing full well this is a sensitive subject for them both.

“You really need to get a new roommate,” Wash mumbles as he switches directions immediately without warning. It isn’t until they turn onto Pike Street that Wash realizes he isn’t trying to lose Church. He’s headed right to Church’s apartment. “I’ll get your fucking files for you. You can crash at my place but Church?”

Church can’t remember the last time his heart was racing this fast as he tries to keep up with Washington’s frenzied pace. It’s clear he wants to get this over with and forget all about it in the morning. “Yeah, Wash?”

“You should really consider moving in with someone you can trust.”

Those words echo through Church’s head the rest of the journey back to his apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you just love when you start writing and then reimagining your original idea? This chapter was originally going to be much different but it kind of wrote itself, so yeah. Let me know what you think of the story so far in the comments, and remember this is still very much a work in progress (but constructive criticism based on what is currently written is always welcome - keep in mind that this is by no means close to finished, though)


	3. Doc

It occurs to Doc that maybe medical school wasn’t such a good idea. He knew that it would be difficult, but _this_ is just ridiculous. It’s bad enough that he is struggling to remember all the different ways to treat a third-degree burn, but being constantly tortured by the other students is pushing him over the edge. He isn’t failing, not by any means, but he isn’t at the top of his class, and that extra obstacle is enough to make him reconsider his passion and go after an easier profession.

Now that the last class has ended for the day, Doc hurries home to his meager apartment. His roommate is out, as usual. Being that they operate on completely different schedules, Doc can easily go days without crossing her path. Which suits them both just fine, really, it’s just that sometimes Doc could really use her company. Or anyone’s company. Making friends has never been his strong point.

He checks through the mail that was shoved unceremoniously through the slot in their door and comes across a strange package addressed to the roommate and squints at it suspiciously. After all this time being her roommate and he still knows next to nothing about her.

“You looking through my mail?”

Doc spins around and is startled to see that Tex isn’t nearly as “out” as he previously thought she was.  
 “Um. No?” he gulps and grabs his pile before hurrying towards his bedroom. Anything to avoid what could possibly become and awkward confrontation.

“That’s what I thought. We agreed when we signed the lease that we would keep to our own schedules, that we wouldn’t snoop in each other’s rooms. I’d like to keep it that way.” There are also some days Doc regrets agreeing to room with one of the scariest girls he has ever met.

“I swear I wasn’t looking through it. You just got a big package, I was curious what it was, is all.” Now would be a good time for one of their phones to ring and to save him from further humiliation. Of course, the only people that generally call him lately are his parents.

“A package?” Tex asks curiously, as if not expecting said package either. He watches her walk over to the pile of mail that was sitting by the door and pick up the package that Doc had previously been curiously observing - not touching, no matter how much he wanted to figure out what was inside. “Huh. Interesting.” She picks it up, sorting through the rest of her mail and shoving the rest into Doc’s chest.

“Hey...Tex?” Doc knows he’s going to regret trying to speak to her almost immediately, but he wonders if maybe it is about time they started actually speaking more than one sentence to each other when they happened to cross paths.

“What the fuck do you want?” The glare that she gives Doc is enough confirmation that he should have just gone to his room and let Tex be. There are sometimes he wonders if she has any friends with the attitude she has, or if this is just something reserved for certain people. If it’s the latter, then Doc wonders what it was he did to upset her since they have barely spoken at all since he moved into this apartment.

“Look, I know you don’t like me, but I just wanted you to know. Like. You’re my roommate and all but that doesn’t mean we have to be strangers. If you ever wanted to talk, if you ever needed someone to talk to?” Doc makes a gesture with his hands that is supposed to finish that sentence, but Tex just looks at him even more confused than she was to begin with.

“Uh. Right. I’m just going to pretend you didn’t just imply we should be friends and go to my room to see what it is I got in the mail.” Doc sighs as he watches Tex retreat to her room. He isn’t surprised that didn’t work at all. He can’t remember a single time he ran into anyone else that was visiting Tex. Maybe she just doesn’t want friends.

Now that they are both in the apartment at the same time, Doc isn’t sure if he is welcome outside of his room. Tex is usually gone until he’s already sleeping and then returns when he’s left for class. So what she’s doing back so soon is beyond any of Doc’s knowledge. Heck, he doesn’t even know what it is she does for a living. For all he knows, it could be something illegal.

When Doc’s phone rings, he nearly falls off his own bed, startled out of his thoughts so suddenly. He doesn’t recognize the number but answers it anyway.

“Hello?” he asks cautiously, figuring it’s probably a wrong number.

“Is this Frank DuFresne?” He doesn’t recognize the voice.

“This is he,” he responds, swallowing thickly as he wonders if maybe he should have lied that whoever is on the other end of the line has the wrong number. He doesn’t fancy having to change his number, or his address for that matter.

“Mr. DuFresne, it’s your lucky day. You have just been randomly selected to take part in a special seminar at University of North Carolina. Travel, room and board will all be paid for and your acceptance of this proposal will look _very_ well on your resume.” 

“I hate to be a killjoy, but how did you get this number? This isn’t exactly listed and I don’t give it out.” As exciting as this supposed seminar sounds, it also sounds too good to be true.

“You must have entered it somewhere. Perhaps when you entered for an opportunity to attend this seminar.” Except that Doc does not remember ever entering for this seminar in the first place. It’s not like anyone else knows this number and would have entered it for him.

“Doc, get off the phone!” he hears Tex hollering from the hallway. “Get off the phone _now!_ ” Doc isn’t sure what Tex is yelling about, but it is curious that she actually cares whether he’s on the phone or not.

He pulls his cell phone away from his ear and covers the mouth piece, poking his head out of his bedroom.

“What’re you on about?” he whispers so that there is no way the other person can hear.

Tex is holding up a file in her hands, inside of which is a picture of Doc himself. He adjusts his glasses in order to read what is written on his file, but he can see something about motivation being his medical studies. Something about...the promise of something to add to his resume? Just like the guy said on the phone...

“No one ever calls you except your parents, right? And all of a sudden someone calls, someone who managed to get a hole of your unlisted number and offering you the very thing that will get you to go to University of North Carolina. Just hang up the phone.”

Doc hesitates for a moment, and realizes - “HEY you were eavesdropping, I never said anything about University of North Carolina!” But before he can put the phone back up to his ear and get more information, Tex launches herself at Doc and tackles him to the ground, wrestling the phone out of his hands. She puts the phone up to her ear and takes control of this situation.

“I don’t know who you are but you can go fuck yourself. Don’t bother calling back, asshole.”

Doc can’t make out much of the voice that is yelling at Tex not to hang up, but he does manage to hear, “Don’t do this, Allison,” before Tex is pressing the end call button and tossing the phone back to Doc.

“Sorry I had to do that, kid. It’s for your own good.” She brushes herself up and then offers Doc a hand.

“What was that about?” Doc takes her hand after a beat of hesitation and let’s her help him back up onto his feet. “I mean, you’ve never cared too much about my well being before, but now what’s changed?”   
But Tex looks obviously distracted. Not that Doc can blame her. If Tex has a file with Doc in it, if that person who called knew her name and knew how to bargain with Doc, then there is something at work that is well beyond anything Doc can fathom right now.

“We need to pack. We’re not safe here anymore. And Doc? Someone gave me your file for a reason. We’re roommates for a reason. I may not like you very much but I’m not that much of a bitch. I’ll get you somewhere safe and we’ll get you a new phone and then I’ll continue onto...wherever it is I need to go. Then we won’t ever have to speak of this again.”

“Pack? We can’t just leave! We...we’ve got rent to pay, I’ve got classes!” It seems preposterous to even presume that they have to just pick up and leave. But Tex does have a point. He doesn’t know what it is someone wants with him, but it can’t be a good thing if they are resorting to coercion.

“Leave that to me. I’m a trained professional.” The smirk she gives Doc makes him feel very uneasy. “Pack up as much as you can. We’ll take my car. We’re going to need to make ourselves disappear. Maybe fake our own deaths.”

“A...professional? A professional what? What the heck...Tex?!” But Tex is already too busy going to her own room to pack her bags. Doc is left in the hallway, gaping at the spot where she was just a moment ago. He doesn’t wait for her to start shouting at him to follow suit before rushing to his own room and grabbing everything in sight to show into whatever luggage he can find. Which, as it turns out, isn’t much. He never really needed any.

When Tex peeks into Doc’s bedroom to find several bags stuffed with clothes, his computer, and various other things that he thought he would need on a road trip of this sort, she looks at him with a vaguely impressed expression.

“Not bad, DuFresne. We just might make something out of you yet.”

As they pack Tex’s car with all of their bags, Doc feels pride for what might have been the first time in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really hard to write at first. But as is often the case, throwing in some extra plot can really liven things up. Who would have thought?!


	4. Tucker

If there is one thing Tucker loves about his job, it’s the hours. Tucker is not a morning person, by any means. There are only so many jobs that entail a night shift, but managing a floor at the club Errera definitely falls under the category of “dream job.” It’s a pretty upscale club, at least by the standards of the town it’s in. The mere fact that it _has_ any standards at all makes it better than most of the clubs. And the _ladies_. Of course, he’s not allowed to touch while he’s on his shift (or on break for that matter) unless of course it is to detangle an ensuing fight between two ladies who have had far, far too much to drink, but he’s content with watching. And, he doesn’t see anything wrong with bringing one of them home on his way off the clock. If he’s no longer working, that’s not _technically_ against the rules, right?

The point is, Tucker is living the life and there isn’t anyone that’s going to ruin it. He also can’t complain about his co-workers, either. Everyone is friendly and willing to share tips since its neon exterior manages to attract the best of the best. And only the best will toss green every which way as if they had their bathtub filled with dollar bills at home. He isn’t even the little bit envious - he would much rather pretend that he fit in with this crowd by night than actually live that life.

“Hey Tucker, get a load of that one. By the bar, your three o’clock.” He and York share a floor since there is often a crowd by the bar and it can be somewhat hard to manage all the club goers. They communicate with earpieces and microphones, which is the closest Tucker will ever get to feeling like a Secret Service guy. He looks over to the area where York is directing him, and it would seem York’s eye is caught by a brunette whose fringe is covering half her face as she sips from her drink. 

“Her? C’mon man, you can do _so_ much better.” He glances over at York to see that the response from York is a middle finger. Tucker can only grin at that. “You promise?”

Tucker is nothing if not an equal opportunity flirt. _Girls? Awesome! Guys? Who cares, am I right? Life’s too short to worry about where the parts fit. If you find someone who fits into your world for even the slightest bit of time, that is just a little bit more time you don’t feel so ungodly alone._ That’s Tucker’s philosophy, at least.

“How many times do I have to tell you no? Besides, I’m spoken for, we’ve been through this.”

Oh, right. The girl from York’s dreams. Tucker has heard all about her before. Fire engine red hair with a personality to boot. Tucker can’t _wait_ for York to meet her already just so he’ll shut up about this soulmate he apparently dreamt up. No matter how many times Tucker tells him that there is no way this girl actually exists (and even if he did manage to meet a girl who looks exactly like her, there’s no guarantee the personality will be right, or that they’ll be meant for each other) York just would not let it go.

It’s driving Tucker a bit mental.

“And how many times do I have to tell you that dreaming up a girl does not _actually_ mean you’re spoken for? Besides, you don’t seem to have any hesitation in looking around.”

“Tucker, Tucker, Tucker. You can peruse the marketplace without actually buying something, it’s called window shopping. Although, let’s be honest, if I were in an actual relationship, my eyes wouldn’t wander. Still, it’s nice to dream, yeah?” As much as they do bicker, York does get his mentality for the most part, and so they get along. Plus, they only allow enough bickering to go by without letting it interfere with their job.

“It _is_ nice to dream, I can’t deny that.” Tucker doesn’t really remember too much when it comes to his dreams. He doesn’t have nice dreams like York. His dreams are much too bizarre. One of them involved an alien following him around like a lost little duckling convinced that a dog is its mama duck.

Their conversation is cut short when a minor incident involving deliberately spilled drinks keeps York from talking anymore. While his friend and co-worker is handling that, though, that is when his eyes are inexplicably drawn to the corner where the stairs lead from the first floor to his floor and he sees her. That girl with fire engine hair. He has heard York describe her a stupid amount of times to know for sure that it’s her. It’s _got_ to be her. But, of course, only York would know for sure. He is the one who’s dreamt her up, after all.

And then he realizes that she is holding the hand of a man trailing behind her. It is in that moment that he hopes that she isn’t the girl York’s been dreaming about. Tucker knows enough about women by now that having to fight through boyfriends is just not worth it, and he’d hate to see York lose all hope when the supposed girl of his dreams is already the girl of someone else’s dreams.

Which is precisely why he does not try to get York’s attention to lure the two into each other’s paths. Normally he would play the part of wingman, but in this case he would gladly be an anti-wingman if it meant steering York away from heartache.

The rest of their shift together seems to go on for fucking ever until finally they’re closing up shop. The only staff that needs to stay past official closing are the bartenders and waitstaff, so Tucker is changing back into his street clothes in the back room. York has already changed and is too busy fiddling with an object in his pocket.

Tucker doesn’t need to look over to know it’s a lighter. He has asked him time and time again why, if he doesn’t smoke, he carries one around.

York still has yet to give him a straight answer.

“You need a ride home?” York asks as Tucker pulls his hair back into a ponytail, securing it with an elastic band. “Or are you walking again?”

The city isn’t exactly that bad that Tucker can walk through without worrying about running into trouble, but sometimes he’s just lazy enough to accept York’s offer. After witnessing the redhead and her gentleman friend, though, Tucker knows he needs to walk this off. The empathy he is feeling is absolutely ridiculous - he isn’t even the one with the dream boner, for fuck’s sake!

“Thanks, but I’m gonna walk. Take care of yourself, yeah? And call me if you need me, unless I’m asleep, then just don’t.” He flashes York a quick smile before hiking a knapsack onto his left shoulder and disembarking for his apartment.

Why he is concerning himself over someone else’s problems like this is beyond him. Normally when it came to people, Tucker was very good at distancing himself, but it’s different with York. He’s not sure why the connection with York is any different, but maybe it’s just after working so long with him they’ve become more than just co-workers. By the time Tucker makes it to his apartment, it’s three in the morning and he is exhausted. He knows as soon as his head hits the pillow, he will fall asleep immediately. What he doesn’t count on is for his door to be open (with no signs of a break-in). His heart is racing as he slowly makes his way into the apartment, looking for a weapon that he can use on the intruder. But then said intruder flips on the lights, and - 

“Tucker! You said your door was always open but you lied, it was locked so I had to open it myself.”

“ _Caboose!_ How many times do I have to fucking tell you to call me first when you need a place to crash? Christ, now I have to get the door fixed, exactly what I did _not_ want to be doing tomorrow.” Tucker groans and makes his way to the wall to start repeatedly hitting his forehead against it. Sometimes he thinks he would prefer an actual intruder over Caboose’s imbecility. But at least Caboose is mostly harmless when he isn’t accidentally injuring someone - he just doesn’t know his own strength which leads to overly rough tackle hugs. Seriously, Tucker does not want to relive the aftermath of that impulsive decision on Caboose’s part.

“I know but I did not know who else to turn to and you were at work, so I had no choice. There are scary people following me. I think I lost them before I got here, I have not seen them in this apartment, I think we are safe.” As dumb as Caboose could be sometimes, he generally doesn’t outright lie, so Caboose talking about “scary people” is probably true - although whether they were actually following Caboose or just happened to be trailing him before turning onto another block is beyond Tucker’s perception.

“If someone were actually following you, I don’t think an unlocked door would stop them,” Tucker points out, yawning as he closes the door as best he can and barricades it, not so much because of Caboose’s story but because he doesn’t want his crazy neighbor to come barging in when he’s on one of his weird drug trips. It’s bad enough when he can hear the maniacal fits on the other side of a locked door.

“Well yeah I thought of that, too, but what if they just want us to think that? What if they strike when we least expect it!” Tucker has to hand it to Caboose, he may have a point. But still, the idea of Caboose interesting anyone enough to follow him is preposterous.

“I’m too tired to argue so just, you know, the couch is yours. Wake me if you need anything, but please wait until at least ten a.m. okay?” Another yawn escapes Tucker as he starts stripping out of his clothes before he even makes it into his bedroom and closes the door to separate him from the living room and Caboose. Caboose has probably seen him in various states of undress by now anyway, and it isn’t like Tucker really cares who sees him naked. Life’s too short to obsess over that crap.

As much as Caboose’s latest antics have him worried, Tucker manages a nice long sleep that night. In fact, between York’s redhead at Errera and Caboose’s tall tales, somehow Tucker finds himself dreaming about a tall blonde and his lanky dark-haired friend. The dreams are nice enough that when Caboose is shaking him awake at eleven (although he has to give Caboose credit for listening to him and not waking him before ten) he wishes he could strangle the man and return back to the dream.

But it’s too late, the dream is gone and all Tucker can hang onto are vague impressions of these men. He tries to store their likeness away in his memory in hopes that maybe, if he can spot York’s dream girl he just might have a shot at his own.

But first? He needs to refrain from killing Caboose, as much as he really, really fucking wants to right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the easiest chapter by far! I did not want it to end - also it has been a struggle to keep adding new POV's instead of revisiting my current favorites. I suppose I could jump around out of chronological order but then it would mean a delay on releasing new chapters. I'll reserve that for when I hit any obstacles that cause me to lose interest overall (although right now I do not see that happening, thankfully!)
> 
> As always, tell me what you think in the comments. Like and subscribe so you never have to worry about missing an update! (I think I just turned into a Youtuber for a minute with that, whoops)


	5. Grif

Some things never change. It seems that no matter what world Dexter Grif is living in, his world will always revolve around food and laziness. Lounging on the beach in Hawaii is something that Grif can most definitely get used to. In fact, he has probably gotten quite used to it by now, consider this has been his home all his life and the beach isn’t something he is a stranger to. The man has a perpetual tan and an even more perpetual gut.

The only time Grif isn’t lounging on the beach is when the sun has descended beyond the horizon. The stipulation for continuing to live in his parents’ poolhouse is to work for his rent. As someone with a definite taste for food, it made complete sense to have him work in the kitchen at their restaurant with only the best Hawaiian cuisine on the menu. Although he’s not quite head chef material - _yet_ , but being Felix’s sous chef will just have to do.

Hawaiiana Cafe has become not only popular amongst the tourists, but also among the locals, who praise it as having a menu that is always changing depending on what’s available in the local markets, but also having those few staples that you can always count on when you have a craving. Grif has to hand it to Felix, although he isn’t a native Hawaiian himself, he knows how to translate Mama Grif’s recipes perfectly.

When Kaikana bursts in towards the end of tonight’s shift, Grif is completely on edge - their stoves are all being used and they’re falling behind on the final dinner rush. This is the only time he feels compelled to stamp out the laziness that is constantly threaten to take over. Perhaps it’s because it’s his family and he would do anything for them - anything else is just inconsequential in comparison. Regardless, when Kaikana comes through that door, she maintains Grif’s full attention.

“Felix, Dex, there’s a foodie out there, wants me to tell you that you guys are fucking awesome at preparing food and he wants to meet you both.” Grif’s heart skips a beat even though he knows it’s really Felix he wants to meet. Felix is the artist here, not Grif. He just follows instructions.

“Tell him we will meet after closing. You can seat him at the bar if he doesn’t want to keep sitting at his table.” Although Dexter has a habit of feeling the pressure cave in on him, Felix is as cool as ever, acting as if there is no backrush of guests expecting expertly-cooked food five minutes ago.

Grif just flashes a look at Felix, questioning how he can be so calm under fire, and for a fleeting moment, wishing he could possess that same mentality, but Felix shouting orders sends all of those thoughts right out of his head.  
The final hour at Hawaiiana Cafe is hectic, but in the best way possible. Felix even manages to get Grif to relax a little by snapping a towel at him, and whether it was meant to hit his arm instead of his ass, Grif isn’t quite sure. But it has its intended effect, which is Grif’s squeaking laughter and his shoulders soften as he finished up the last of his dishes for the evening.

“So, shall we go meet our secret admirer?” Felix teases as Grif hangs up his jacket. “How many bets that he wants the d and thinks the way in our pants is through complimenting our cooking skills?”

“I’m just going to throw this out there right now? There is no way in hell that is going to work. On me, at least, I guess I shouldn’t be speaking for you.” Although they have only been working together for a year at most, Grif feels like he knows based on how Felix acts in the kitchen that he is likely to flirt with anything that moves. He has flirted with just about everyone that works in the restaurant by now, and other than Grif’s own sister, nobody has seriously returned any of the affection. Which is unsurprising since when one watches Felix flirt with anything with legs, that isn’t exactly conducive to taking him seriously.

“I never said it would work. Just that this is what he’s hoping,” Felix counters. “Of course, if he’s attractive...”

Grif shakes his head and rolls his eyes. Of course Felix would; Grif should have known. “He’s _all_ yours in that case.”

When the pair finally emerge from the kitchen, everyone else has left except for one man, seated at the bar. There is a moment of recognition, although Grif knows he has never met this guy before. He never forgets a name to go along with a face. So why can’t he put a name to this one?

Felix is the first one to speak, and it’s clear by the attempt at cranking up the charm that he is hoping to get laid tonight. If it means maybe going easy on Grif the next day, then he, too, hopes Felix gets laid.

“So you’re the one who wants to give compliments to the chef,” he greets the mysterious individual with a hand thrust out towards the stranger. The stranger takes it and gives what appears to be a very firm handshake. “Felix, at your service. And this is my sous chef, Grif.”

Grif manages a meager smile as the stranger turns to face them fully. It’s freaking Grif out just how familiar this guy is.

“Well I’ll be damned, didn’t think a couple of guys like you were mannin’ the kitchen. Pleased to meet you both, you can call me Sarge.”

Suddenly, Grif is having visions of a box canyon with two flags: one red, one blue. These visions disappear as quickly as they come to him in the first place. He chalks them up to having not enough sleep the night before. Even if he also got a couple of naps in on the beach. _Technicalities._

“Sarge. Have we met?” Grif asks curiously, eyeing him suspiciously. Did someone slip him drugs, is that what is happening? Did he eat a bad batch of pineapple?

“I don’t believe we did. I think I’d remember a stately fellow like you. But who knows? I do meet so many young, strapping men in my line of business. I’m a salesman, you see. Speaking of, do both you boys have life insurance?”

Grif groans. So _that’s_ what this is about. It has nothing to do with food, the guys’s trying to sell them something. If only Grif had thought to sneak out back.

Felix is looking at Grif as if he’s thinking the same thing.

“Uh. Yes. Yes, we both do. As a matter of fact, we should probably check on our policies to make sure they are up to date. Come on, we have to finish locking up.” Grif has to say, as much as the two of them have their differences in the kitchen, there are a few things they can agree on. Grif is very, very glad that this is one of them.

Felix ushers Sarge out the door faster than an ice cube melts on an open flame and happily turns the locks so that Sarge can’t try to burst his way back in. He looks at Grif and the two exchange a hearty laugh. Grif cannot honestly recall the last time he has laughed that hard.

“We should do this again sometime,” Felix comments and, if Grif were just a little bit more dense he probably would have missed the hand that Felix expertly brushed across Grif’s shoulder. He may be fat, he may even be a tad on the lazy side outside of the cafe, but dense is not something Grif considered him to be. Okay, maybe slow, but he gets to the conclusion eventually.

But Felix is out the back door before he can even protest. So poor Grif is left in his wake, trying to comprehend if that was a conscious move on Felix’s part or if he should start considering not coming to work anymore. Or getting a new job. Just to avoid Felix.

When he returns home to the humble poolhouse he calls home, there’s a package waiting for him. And when he opens it, Sarge’s face is staring back at him. But that’s not all, because of course that would be bad enough. There are pictures of that box canyon and the words Blood Gulch ring too true to his memory.

“That’s it. I’ve lost it. Felix has driven me mad.” He is, of course, speaking to no one in particular, since nobody is there to listen to him. At least, he _thinks_ nobody is there to listen to him, until he hears a noise outside. Already spooked out of his mind, Grif goes to grab the closest object he can use to bludgeon someone to death, should he need to.

When Grif cautiously opens the door with a hammer in his hand (and why a hammer is even in his home, he has no idea), Simmons is the last person he expects to see, for three reasons: the first being that Grif has never met Simmons in his life, the second being he _knows_ this guy, more certain of this he is than that inkling he felt when he first met Sarge, and the third being, well - 

“How the _fuck_ did you find me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! First, I started writing something completely different from this chapter and decided to go back and work on more character introductions before revealing more of the plot-driven stuff that will really bring this story together. Second, the holiday got the better of me.
> 
> Also, was not planning on adding Felix, but the bastard was practically begging me. Dammit, Miles.


	6. South

Being a twin sucks sometimes. On the one hand, it’s great having a brother always there for her, but neither one of them got to experience what it was like to be an only child. They only ever had each other. Which meant that when it came time to becoming their own people, they were at a loss.

At least, South was at a loss. Her big brother (bigger by mere seconds) has managed to make a decent life for himself. Meanwhile, South finds herself struggling to make ends meet, and now that she can cross yet another job off her list, she has no idea where to go from here. She knows what she is feeling is jealousy, and towards her own brother, for fuck’s sake, but can anyone really blame her?

She pulls out a cigarette and fiddles around her pockets for a lighter or a matchbook, anything to get a quick nicotine fix before it’s back to the grind of sending out cover letters with her resume, of trying to find that perfect job that she knows is out there. But she can find neither a match nor her trusty lighter and starts to curse everything. A normal person would be taking a smoking break in the lobby, but they don’t call it the fire escape for nothing, right? Which explains why South is precariously dangling over the edge, secure only because one of her legs is wrapped around iron bars. If she were to slip, she would have to hope that she could grip with her thighs, but South never slips.

As she is mulling all of this over in her head, just how far it is down to the ground, how easy it would be to just let go, when she hears a voice from her neighbor’s apartment, the window that is on the opposite side of the fire escape.

“Need a light?” She recognizes that head of dark hair, a mop of hair that nearly conceals his even darker eyes. They pass each other in the hall and ride the elevator together, but never really exchange words. Until now, it would seem.

“You’re my savior.” There’s a bite to her words, as if she isn’t sure whether she is happy to get her smoke break she so desperately needs or if she would have rather taken the so-called easy way out. Then a stab of guilt follows as she realizes North would be devastated, and she just couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him alone even if it sometimes feels like he’s left her alone.

The stranger with the dark hair climbs out to join her on the fire escape and strikes a match (how archaic the action seems in the dawn of electronics; and why haven’t they invented an app that can light a fucking cigarette yet, anyway?) to hold out to her. South puts the cigarette between her lips and leans forward until she can tell that the other end of the stick has been sufficiently ignited. Before she pulls back, their eyes lock for just long enough to send shivers down South’s spine.

“The name’s Locus,” he introduces himself, waving the match around in the air to put the flame out. He holds out his other hand for South to shake, and she does so as she curiously inspects him.

“South. I’ve seen you around, but I’ve never been one for socializing. Sorry about that.” Truth is, South isn’t really all that sorry, but Locus doesn’t seem like a bad guy. He probably has no idea what he’s stumbled across, what can of worms he has just opened. In fact, South feels more sorry about that than anything else.

“Yeah, me neither. You just seemed kind of lonely, and well. Always happy to help out someone in need.” South eyes him warily, trying to scope out if he has some other angle that he isn’t showing. She isn’t sure what it is about him that doesn’t seem genuine. Maybe South has just been around too many shitty guys - fuck that, make that shitty people - by now to trust anyone besides her big brother. Even that redhead that’s always hanging around has barely earned any of South’s trust by now.

“I owe you,” South mused as she breathed in smoke and watched the ashen cloud disperse with each exhale. She realizes the irony in all of this: Locus saved her from a quick death only to let her die over a much longer period. She’s not that dumb, she knows what these cigarettes are doing to her. That’s been kind of the point.

Self destruction is just something South has been all too good at for the past several years. Decades, even. If it hadn’t been for North, South is certain she wouldn’t be alive right now and that thought isn’t as comforting as it used to be. The more North slips away from her, the more South wants to spiral further out of control.

And she knows it’s dumb as shit to put all her eggs in one basket and hand them to her brother, but he’s all she’s got. 

“I’m sure you’ll be able to repay me, somehow. Maybe with dinner? I’ll cook something.” And okay, South could never resist a guy that can cook. Mainly because South is a shitty cook and North used to make her all her favorites. While on her own, South eats a lot of frozen meals and crap from a can. It’s not exactly the healthiest lifestyle, but then again, she’s never cared too much about her health.

“Dinner, hmm? I think that can be arranged. Should I climb through your fire escape or meet you at your door like a normal person?” She can’t help but flick a smirk his way, and she has to admit the fire in his eyes at that remark, the humor behind the soft laughter intrigues her. Maybe he’s a kindred spirit, in a way. A lost soul, someone in need of being accepted by someone else just as much as she needs it.

All the alarms are going off in her head, warning her this is the kind of guy to stay away from, but with how much of her world has eroded since moving out and away from North, she just doesn’t give a fuck anymore. If Locus is to be her last hurrah, then she might as well make it the biggest swan song she possibly can manage.

“You might want to make sure your apartment’s secure. Wouldn’t want to be responsible for any break-ins while you’re dining, right?” And fuck if he isn’t ever so suave as he offers her a hand to help her get on her feet again. If South weren’t cold as ice, she probably would have melted at that gesture. But no, she still has all her walls up.

It’s probably a good thing she does, at any rate.

“Then in that case, I will be by in five minutes,” South blows him a kiss before stamping out her cigarette and retreating back into her apartment. A date, huh? With her neighbor, who she can’t exactly avoid if things go sour. And yet, she could probably do a hell of a lot worse.

As she gets ready for this apparent date, an unopened package sits unattended and South’s cell phone is next to it, vibrating impatiently. South ignores it, not even bothering to check her messages as she makes her way out the door and locking everything up behind her. Everyone and everything else can wait. It’s time for South to have a few hours to herself for once.

And when she wakes up in Locus’s bed the next morning, she starts wondering why she didn’t choose being selfish earlier. If North can have his own life then, fuck, so can she. Who cares if this isn’t love, anyway? South was never really looking for love in the first place. So long as she can feel good (and fuck if the sex wasn’t _amazing_ seriously where did this guy learn how to do that shit anyway?) then the rest doesn’t matter.

Locus, well, South can’t really read him at all, but she assumes he’s on the same page. He doesn’t really seem like the loving type. Which makes it all too easy for South to sneak out of his bed and pull on her clothes from last night. Locus doesn’t even wake up when she nearly trips over one of his shoes.

The only difficult part of all of this is when she quietly closes the door to Locus’s apartment behind her and spots an all too familiar figure waiting in front of her own.

“North. The fuck are you doing here?” She isn’t sure if she’s angry at him for just showing up or relieved to see him. The confusion is almost unbearable, which of course leads her to clumsily unlock her apartment door, letting him follow even though she would love nothing more than to shut herself inside for the rest of the day, without anyone else to burst this bubble of happiness she has managed to form for now.

“You weren’t answering my calls or texts, I got worried, I came to check on you. When were you going to tell me you’re dating your neighbor now?” Straight to the accusations. This is why South doesn’t do family get-togethers much anymore.

“You know I can take care of myself. Besides, I had my phone on silent and as you can see, I had a _very_ good reason why. God, what business is it who I’m fucking anyway? It took you _how long_ to tell me about Carolina?” There are some times when South wonders why she fights with her brother. This is one of those times. North really is the only friend she has, and she knows no matter how many stones she throws at him, he will always come back. He’s family, he has to. But that doesn’t mean she feels great about hurling such vicious words at him.

“The last time you didn’t answer I found you in the hospital the next day. So yeah, excuse me for wanting to make sure my sister is still alive. As for Carolina, I _tried_ to tell you, but there is never a good time for you, you know that. It’s not easy with you, it never was. You do not make it easy, at all. I didn’t come here to fight, though, I came here to make sure you’re okay.” North is nothing if not stubborn. South knows full well he won’t leave until he’s sure she’s okay enough to be on her own.

And South never could stay mad at North for long. She lets out a loud sigh and looks glumly down at the ground. “I’m sorry I’m such a bitch. It’s never been easy for both of us.” She doesn’t want to talk about the fact that if Locus hadn’t come along this might have been a repeat of that time. Anything to make sure North doesn’t insist South move back in with him. She knows Carolina is there more often than not and, as much as she’s taken a liking to North’s girlfriend, there’s just something...off about the two of them. She had tried to tell North about it once, but as always, South is just the crazy girl that North only entertains because they’re siblings.

It’s all kinds of fucked up, South knows it, North knows it, too. But it works. South is still alive, isn’t she?

“I won’t stay long, if you don’t want me to,” North offers, gesturing to the door. South shakes her head, making a bee-line for him and throwing her arms around him to squeeze him into a giant bear hug. “I’ll take that as a I better motherfucking stay,” he murmurs into her shoulder.

No matter how happy South was the night before, nothing like that will ever compare to the feelings she gets when she’s around North. That much, at least, feels right, even when nothing else does.

“Please stay. I need an excuse in case Mr. Booty Call next door tries to seduce me twice in a row,” she teases as North makes a gagging noise and a snide comment about not talking about her sex life or he’ll start talking in explicit detail about Carolina.

★★★

“Yes, this is Locus. She fell for the bait. I’ll have her eating out of my hand in days.” Shrouded in darkness, Locus lights a match that illuminates his face eerily and lights a cigarette. Little does South know just how much Locus has heard of her conversation with North. After all, it’s very easy to listen to conversations when you just happen to have the whole apartment bugged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not sure how to end this bit, which you'll probably be able to tell by the awkward cut-to-Locus end scene, but ★I tried.
> 
> Hi, this story has gotten more epic than I originally intended? Yay, that's a good thing!


	7. C.T.

Tracking down everyone has been the single most torturous thing Connie has ever had to do. It feels as if she’s facing every mistake she made in another life, and instead of making things right, it feels as if she has made it worse. She didn’t meant to hurt anyone, Wash especially. He was a mistake, plain and simple, and tearing herself away from her former friend and former Freelancer was incredibly hard.  
 But she had to, and in a way it turned into a good thing, right? It drove Church and Washington together, which meant she didn’t have to worry about sending Wash an anonymous package like she had to with everyone else.

The worst part of all of this is remembering everything that happened to them as Freelancers and not being able to do a damn thing to make them remember. Acquiring all the files had been a feat in and of itself, and tacking onto that figuring out everyone’s current addresses? Connie has had her work cut out for her, and she still hasn’t finished. Besides, just delivering the packages isn’t enough. She has to make them _understand_.

That’s why she’s in North Carolina. If there is one person she knows can help her finish this job, it’s Carolina herself. She was a leader for a reason and Connie knows with her brilliance in this world she’ll be able to figure it out. She just needs to get close enough and make her see reason, make her see that this world is all wrong.

She sees her at Club Errera, but Carolina isn’t alone, so Connie can’t get close enough to even plant ideas into her head. One look at North and Connie knows it’s useless. She returns home to her temporary apartment, kicking off her heels at the door and as soon as the lights switch on seemingly of their own accord, Connie swivels around and pulls a Beretta out of a concealed holster attached to her thigh, quickly cocking it and pointing it at her couch. Seated there is a very familiar face, the last person she ever expected to see visiting her humble abode.

“Jesus Christ, Maine. You scared the _shit_ out of me.” She put the safety back on and gently slid the gun back in its holster. “So, I see you got yourself out. Good for you.”

All she got was a grunt in return. Figures, Maine isn’t talkative in this life either.

“Did you get the package I sent?” Maine responds by holding up the files Connie had selected specifically for him. Figuring out who should get which file was an absolute nightmare. She knew full well how important it was that each soldier be given the files of those they were closest to, otherwise how effective would that be? That was how Connie’s mind was unlocked - and how much _that_ hurt. The man she loved, the leader of the Insurrectionist? As it turns out, he had already passed away in this world, leaving Connie with an impossibly large void. It was easy to fill that void along the way as she searched to locate the Freelancers, the Reds, and the Blues. But nothing would come close to the love she remembers so vividly, as if it had been just yesterday that she had left her friends to join what she thought was the winning side.

Maine opens the file for Carolina and turns to the page that mentions the AIs that Carolina was given - plural. Connie is trying to figure out what it is that he is trying to ask her.

“Maine, you’re gonna have to speak up, I don’t know what this means.” She raises an eyebrow as Maine looks as if he’s struggling to find his words.

“Sigma?” Connie’s heart skipped a beat. Sigma was not mentioned anywhere in Carolina’s file, only eta and iota were.

“You remember then?” To which Maine nods his head. The usually stoic man that Connie knew well held his head in what looked like shame. To be honest, Connie never could read him. Carolina was probably the closest to him, but Carolina wasn’t initiated like they were. Still, she sat down next to him and placed a tentative arm around his shoulder, trying to comfort him as best she could. It is a bit awkward at first, but then Maine moves into her embrace. “We have to find Carolina. She needs to know the truth.”

Maine tenses up and Connie knows he’s remembering all the things he did to everyone, even if it was technically the Meta, that it was Sigma’s influence over Maine that caused all of that to happen. Connie still hasn’t forgiven herself for what her own abandonment had caused to happen to the program, and she doubts Maine will ever learn to forgive himself, either. At least they could commiserate together now.

“Everything will be better when we’re reunited. I promise.” At this point, Connie is just speaking to relieve the air of whatever tension still remains. Maybe it’s not true, maybe it won’t be better, but Connie has to try. Being separated like this, with Connie the only one knowing is pure torture.

“Have a plan,” Maine grumbles and pulls away from Connie long enough to slip her a piece of paper with some information on it regarding a tech expo taking place in Raleigh. The recon Connie had managed to gather on Carolina indicated she was working on some device, but that is all the information she was able to get so far. She left a package with Carolina, but whether that package was received and open, she does not know. Based on what she witnessed at Errera? Connie would say probably not. After all, Connie had clearly witnessed Carolina crossing paths with York with no fireworks like Connie had hoped. This might be their only hope of getting Carolina somewhere outside of that laboratory.

“Leave this to me,” Connie insists, giving Maine an awkward squeeze of thanks. “And Maine? I’m glad you’re back.” Regardless of how close they were, things can change now. Now that there’s no war, no Insurrection, no Freelancers, Connie intends to make things as right as they possibly can.

￼￼￼￼￼￼★★★

No matter how late Connie stays out at night, she always manages to wake up before noon. Which is good when she wants to get shit done, but not so good when she has a hangover. Luckily she had the sense not to drink last night, even with the weirdness of seeing Carolina with North and just completely glaze over York as if he weren’t even there. That is something she would rather not remember.

Maine fell asleep on her couch before she had retreated to bed, but it looks as if Connie isn’t the only one to rise before noon either. He already has her coffee pot brewing and...are those _eggs_? Cooking wasn’t exactly something the Freelancers really did since there were cooks hired back on the Mother of Invention. Connie does recall a few instances when they snuck into the kitchen for their own means, but Maine never struck her as someone who would be adept in the kitchen. It seems even to this day she’s learning more and more new things about those people she was lucky enough to call friends, even if they might not think the same of her. She just considers herself lucky that Maine is on her side. He is enough of a force to be reckoned with that he would probably have ruined everything Connie had fought for since her memories surfaced.

“How long do you think we’ve got before they realize what we’re up to?” Connie asks as Maine hands her a cup of coffee. She’s not expecting a response, so the shrug she gets is typical. The wave of his hand after that shrug, though, is much more than she thought she would get out of him. To an outsider, it wouldn’t look like much, but Connie knows Maine enough to realize that’s his way of saying probably not much time at all. She has to agree with him, especially once Carolina is involved. She knows Carolina is the key to this whole thing working in their favor.

That is why Connie is careful in the way she executes this part of Maine’s plan. It would be too subtle to just drop the brochure for the tech expo off at Carolina’s apartment. Connie has done enough recon to realize that Carolina is at North’s more often than at her own home. No, she has to get Carolina’s attention in a much more obvious manner.

Which is precisely why she is using a prepaid phone card to dial up Carolina’s phone - just in case they can trace the call - and leave a message. Much in the same way Doc was urged to come to North Carolina for a conference, Connie dresses up this tech expo as the best thing since sliced bread. If it weren’t possibly going to make the Director suspicious, Connie would have left this message for him, but this is something Carolina would have to do without his urging. Connie only hopes that Carolina still has that drive to be the best at every fucking thing she does.

With all of that out of the way, now all she can do is wait. Wait and keep checking up on Carolina to make sure she does what she needs to in order to make things go back the way they are meant to be. And Connie? Well, she knows there is the possibility that when things go back to that world, she won’t be alive anymore. But there is also the possibility that this will reset the clock, and that is all she can hope for right now.

“What do we do now?” Connie asks as she places her cell phone on the table and glances at Maine. “You never were one for just waiting around.”

Maine makes a face, wrinkling his nose and looking generally disapproving. But all he ends up doing is shrugging, as if struggling with the idea that maybe, no matter what it is he _wants_ to do, what he needs to do is be patient for once. It’s a makeshift attempt at penance for the intimidating guy. Connie admires him for trying.

“You look like you could use a distraction. I know we weren’t...exactly the closest, but if we’re going to be stuck here a little while longer as civilians, we might as well have fun with it, right?” Connie holds her breath as she waits for any sort of response for Maine.

The nod is all she’s going to get, she knows. She grabs a sweater and her keys and is out the door before either can change their mind. With no destination in mind, the both of them are really just wandering around the city, but it’s nice for a change. Maine has always been very mission-oriented. Always with a goal in mind, always letting someone else do the thinking for him. Now Connie was letting him choose where they go, on whims instead of with any sort of ideas of what they want to do. And Connie has to say, she has never seen Maine smile before until now.

“It’s a nice look for you, Maine. You should smile more often,” she remarks as the two stroll through a park. When Maine reaches for her hand, Connie hesitates for the slightest of moments, something she knows isn’t lost on Maine. She can’t help her reaction; her heart still aches no matter how she distracts herself. But whatever this is, whatever Maine’s intentions are, she can’t help but realize that genuine human contact feels nice, even if it’s just friendly in nature.

The rest of the walk is in silence, but Maine has always communicated with minimal words so it isn’t uncomfortable in the least. On the contrary, they find themselves engrossed in the world around them. Watching people, watching the landscape, watching the animals. For too long they were trained to focus only on the mission at hand, and finally they are allowed the opportunity to observe and to decide how to operate with their own decisions. For Connie, that came a lot easier since she is used to disobeying orders and flying under the radar, but for Maine? Connie can guess how difficult this has been for Maine, and yet he seems to be doing just fine.

When they return to Connie’s apartment, Maine stops her before they enter the dwelling. He points to the lock and then makes a motion to keep quiet. Connie’s eyes widen when she realizes what he’s implying. And for a moment she thought he had stopped her, intending to kiss her. Clearly she has been reading too much into this whole situation between them.

But by the looks of things, someone must have tried to break in while they were out, might have even succeeded. She stands behind Maine, who graciously opens the door first, shielding himself behind the wall in case whoever it is happens to be inside the apartment.

The place is in shambles. Someone has clearly been inside and has ransacked everything. What they are looking for, Connie cannot tell, though she has some guesses.

“They’re onto me. I’m not safe here anymore,” Connie murmurs, walking straight into her bedroom. Hidden in the closet is a safe, which she opens carefully and is relieved to see that nothing was taken from it. “C’mon Maine, we’ve got to move out in case they decide to come back and hope to find me.”

Connie unloads everything from the safe. She doesn’t bother to take any of her other personal belongings. She has made enough money by now through cons to afford clothes wherever she goes, and she’s often in and out of apartments using fake names and fake documents that nobody is the wiser when she inevitably breaks the lease and is on the run. It’s not the best life that she’s built for herself, but it had worked up until the memories returned. And now she’s dragging Maine along with her.

At least Maine seems to be complacent. He is dangling keys and gesturing for them to get the hell out of there. Connie’s used to being on the run, but never with a co-pilot.

“Could get used to having you around, Maine. Sorry for dragging you into this mess,” she quips as she hops into the car he apparently had stolen in order to make his escape in the first place.

The look she gets in return and the shrug that follows make her think that he doesn’t care about any of this, that he maybe considers it as “par for the course” and besides, he is a fugitive, so being on the run _does_ kind of come with the territory. It’s funny all that Connie can get out of Maine without Maine actually saying one word, especially considering she was never the one to try to communicate with him in the past. It's kind of nice to know that some things are capable of changing.

“Alright, you did such a good job before on foot. Care to lead the way?” And so Maine steps on the gas, and onwards the two begin the next step in their journey to get to safety and hopefully rendezvous with Carolina somewhere along the line. Clearly, safety lies in numbers, and the only way they’re going to increase in numbers is through the team leader. But now...how are they going to convince her to join their cause if she doesn’t even remember?

That, that is the real question, and Connie knows everything now depends on finding the answer, and before whomever it is that is after them catches up with their trail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy exciting chapter Batman! And the plot thickens more :D
> 
> Also I started writing this before the Grif chapter and decided I wanted to withhold it until Connie and Maine were the last two to introduce, for obvious reasons. I tried to make sure there are no continuity errors with the new chapters I wrote, but I apologize if there are (and please let me know so I can go fix them!)


	8. Carolina

There are some stretches of time when Carolina won’t see the inside of her apartment for weeks. She has been known to spend nights at the laboratory, or on the more common occasion, in North’s apartment. She will stop off at her apartment to change her clothes, but otherwise, her apartment is just there for when she needs to not see the lab or North. It happens, but very rarely.

So it is pretty odd for Carolina to be back at her apartment for longer than the time it takes for her to put on new clothes and take a shower. But North has a thing and Carolina isn’t ready to go back to the lab and try to figure out how she is going to find anyone to try out her machine. As generous as the Director’s offer was, there is no way she is taking him up on it. She would sooner try out the contraption on herself.

As she wanders around the kitchen, trying to figure out how to entertain herself for the next hour or two, her eyes are drawn to the mail on her counter. The mail which, if she recalls, she did not _put_ there. Or maybe she did, it’s been so long since she’s actually gone through her mail. Well, that’s something to do to occupy her time while North is off doing whatever it is he has to do.

She grabs a letter opener from one of her drawers and slices open the oversized envelope with ease. Carolina has always been good with knives.

Before she gets to inspecting the package’s contents, her phone rings. She hadn’t expected anyone to call, and she doesn’t recognize the number, so she doesn’t answer it. But when they leave a message, curiosity has gotten the better of it.

How on earth does she recognize that voice?

But that thought is soon dashed away when she hears what the person is saying. A chance to showcase her work? In front of the world’s most renowned scientists? But the deadline to enter is too soon...she’s not ready. There is no way she will be ready in time without testing it on a real, live subject.

“Fuck it. There’s only one person I trust to not fuck up my experiment anyway,” she grumbles to herself.

That settles it, then. Carolina shoots North a quick text, knowing full well his phone would be turned off anyway. Which is fine, because she knows he’ll try to talk her out of it and probably argue that he should be the one to lend his service. But no, she’s not endangering the life of anyone else but her own.

So much for opening that package. She decides to bring it with her as she drives back to the campus and descends back into the basement level where the lab is located. Everything is exactly how she left it, including that file that the Director had left for her. She brushes her fingers over his picture, wondering how it is that someone she clearly never met before can feel so familiar.

“Who are you?” she murmurs to herself as she places the package next to it. She can feel the nerves building up in her as it dawns on her what she is about to do. It’s all been a theory up until now. But now she might actually unlock the brain’s memory capacity, in a way creating an external hard drive for the human computer. It’s exciting to think about what this could mean. Learning more languages, perhaps even curing Alzheimer’s once and for all. A Nobel Prize could even be in her future if she does this right.

But first she has to ensure that this will work, and won’t harm anyone in the process. So she flips on the switches to turn the machine on and draws in a deep breath as she begins setting up the process that would allow the machine to connect with her brain. It involves a lot of electrodes and an IV in the arm, and maybe she should have enlisted the help of someone to assist her, but eventually she has everything set up the way she had intended it to. At least this way she doesn’t have to worry about some incompetent fool screwing everything up by messing up the placement.

She pulls up the laptop where the program she had written to calibrate the machine and process all the information, her arrow hovering over the button to begin the experiment. She glances over at that file, wondering why the Director would have submitted his name for her guinea pig for a split second before clicking the button and beginning the extrapolation process.

￼￼￼

￼￼￼★★★

  
There’s a man with brown hair playing with a lighter. Their surroundings look a lot like the club from the other night, but more...futuristic. The guy has been staring at his lighter and turning it on and shutting it off for the better part of the last five minutes, but she’s not having any of that shit. It’s pathetically cute, but ultimately the thought nags at her that she’s gotta get him to stop. So she struts across the floor and grabs the lighter from him, spinning it around in her hand, inspecting it closely. “Stop that, it’s fucking annoying.” But she flashes him a smile and he offers to buy her a drink, so it can’t have upset him too much, right?

And then there’s the Mother of Invention, and that goddamn leaderboard. It should be her name up top, but it’s not, it’s that goddamn Texas chick that’s ruining her life. Real dramatic, Carolina.

And those AI’s, fuck, she hadn’t anticipated how crowded it would be inside her head with just one AI, let alone two.

Everything is rushing to the surface, every little moment of pain, anger, happiness, ecstasy, frustration, depression, jealousy. All of that, and she can feel it as if it just happened yesterday. But...North isn’t dead! If North isn’t dead then does that mean...York? York! Why is she with North, she should be with York?

That goofy smile of his, with his suave voice and smooth moves. Carolina might have taken his lighter but he picked the lock to open her heart.

She blindly reaches out for the laptop to stop the experiment because she can’t handle remembering anymore. All those people that died...because she was too fucking stubborn not to realize what the Director was doing to them right from the get-go.

But they’re alive now...even if she had finally moved on in that other life, that doesn’t stop the fleeting thought that maybe she can make things right this time. She knows now what she has to do. It’s time to get the gang back together. Starting with York, and then Maine. But first? First she has to deal with North and make him remember.

And that means tracking him down wherever he is. She was never the best at tracking; that was always more of Wyoming’s thing. They were a team, the Freelancers. Everyone had their strength and together they were almost unstoppable. The problems arose when they were being divided, all beginning with C.T.’s departure. All beginning with the introduction of A.I.’s, she corrects herself. Connie knew what was up before they all figured it out. Oh, if only she could see the facts then and there...

It was too late to dwell on the past. Carolina knows she has to keep reminding herself of that. But if they can return to that world, then maybe she can keep everything from falling apart at the seams as quickly as they did.

She unhooks the machinery and saves all the data that she extrapolated onto a USB key, just in case. She would rather not have the data fall into the wrong hands.

And then her eyes gloss across the package. Curiously, she rips the packaging to shreds until files similar to Maine’s are revealed. She sees York’s file as well as Wash’s, and it takes a lot of effort not to just sit down and read each tidbit on her partners. Finding the both of them will not be easy, she knows. But first, she thinks perhaps it’s time to figure out who in the hell left the package in the first place.

It’s hard not to be in a rush after all that has happened. The world which already seemed vibrant is now in a technicolor so intense it almost blinds her with brightness. She shields her eyes and looks around to get her bearings. With two worlds of memories colliding, it’s difficult to remember what it is she has now set out to do. Fuck the tech expo, that machine can wait. Although, if North won’t believe her, she may have to try it on him. Although, she hopes that he will trust her on this one.

While speeding across the path back to her car, the files in one hand, her phone in another, she nearly collides with someone else who lets out a curse and quickly follows it with an apology. She knows that voice...

Her knees are skinned a little bit on the ground from falling, and the files may have scattered a little, but she is looking into a very familiar set of eyes. It’s enough to send her head spinning and make her forget everything, make the rest of the world melt away until it’s just the two of them.

“York...” she whispers, feeling as if she has forgotten to breathe. In fact, it has become rather hard to breathe in general.

“Sorry about that, I should have been watching where I was going.” He picks himself up and offers her a hand to pull her back up on her feet. A hand which she so gladly takes and regrettably lets go after a moment’s hesitation. He still has that same warmth that she remembers so fondly.

“No, it’s my fault,” she replies when she finally finds her voice and her bearings again. “I’ve been pretty distracted lately, I should know better.” She shrugs, and then suddenly remembers those files on the ground. He moves in to help, and she lets him, forgetting for a moment that one of those files is of him.

And of course it’s the file that he goes for first. He doesn’t appear to notice, thankfully, mostly because his eyes are on her.

“I _knew_ it, you’re her! The girl from my dreams, you’re real!” Carolina is confused, and looks visibly so. Does York remember? Because that would be really fucking convenient. “Tucker’s going to flip his shit when he hears.”

And then he’s pulling out his phone and Carolina remembers that name, Tucker. He was that blue soldier, the one with the glowing sword. The one who probably would have made a halfway decent soldier if he devoted more of his brain to strategy and less to picking up chicks. Although, she does recall him improving. Strange, though, that York would know Tucker.

“Who’s Tucker?” Carolina asks, cocking her head to the side. Thankfully, York is pulling his phone out, presumably to text Tucker while handing her back the file. Somehow, he managed to completely ignore the contents, the pictures of a man looking strangely like himself, only with one less eye.

“Oh, we work together. You should come! On a night when I’m not working, though, boss probably wouldn’t like it if I tried to flirt with the customers.” Still as cute as ever, Carolina notes. It’s hard not to be smitten all over again.

“Maybe I will. But...” Carolina’s teeth grab a chunk of her lip as she nervously debates if she should just spill everything right then and there. She can’t possibly tell York she has a boyfriend and yet withhold the information that it’s _him_ , it’s always been York.

“But what?” York asks, and there’s that smirk of his, that one that always gets Carolina to melt and cave in. Fuck, it’s still as potent as ever.

“I need to tell you something and you’re going to think I’m crazy. We should go somewhere...a little less out in the open.” She quickly checks her phone to see that no, North has not responded. Her apartment should be safe. “Will you come back to my place? I have to show you something.”

York clearly looks hesitant, as if he fears that Carolina is going to kidnap him and do godawful things to him and she rolls her eyes, pointing to his right pocket. “You’ve got a lighter in there, right? It’s from Club Errera. Has a logo on it, yellow ‘e” for Errera. How would I know that, you’re probably asking yourself? You gave it to me once, in another life.”

She doesn’t want to reveal too much to him, as she guesses it probably wouldn’t take much to scare York away. Although the fact that he dreamt about her is a pretty damn good sign.

“If I come with you, you promise not to kill me?” At least York is blunt about it.

“I’ve been responsible for enough death. It’s time I make up for that.” Carolina rolls her eyes at York’s expression, as if she happens to be a hitman or bounty hunter. “Oh, come _on_ , I’m not going to kill you, I promise.”

She pockets her phone and grabs York’s wrist to lead him the rest of the way to her car.

Little does she know, a pair of eyes has been watching the two of them since Carolina bumped right into York.

“South? Is it alright if I stay with you again tonight? Don’t think I’ll be taking Carolina out to dinner after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how about that episode 10, huh?
> 
> In the words of Miles Luna, "MUAHAHAHAHA"


	9. Church

This was getting ridiculous, even by Church’s standards. He has not been back at his apartment in three days, wanting to avoid Donut at all costs. By all intents and purposes, she should just tell Donut he is moving to Washington’s place, since he has spent every night on the couch, even if it means waking up with a stiff neck and a ball of fur in his face.

“I swear your goddamn cat is trying to suffocate me,” Church grumbles that morning over a breakfast of waffles and eggs. It’s the least Church can do to make up for begrudgingly staying over Wash’s apartment.

“What, Epsilon? Nah, he’s just trying to rub his scent all over you. That means he owns you now, which I think means you can’t ever leave.” Church knows it’s a joke, although it is kind of nice to think about. Really, Church would just like a halfway sane roommate right now.

“Thanks for letting me stay, by the way. I know I’m not the most...well...friendly houseguest.” He accepts the mug of coffee that Wash pushes over to him now that the coffee maker has finished brewing enough for four cups. Church will feel more like a human after that coffee, and Wash will feel less like he wants to kick Church out.

“Hey, you make breakfast, that’s good enough payment for now. But seriously, if you are planning on doing this for much longer I might have to start charging rent. Or force you to patch things up with Donut somehow.” That last thought makes Church grimace. That’s settled then.

“Okay, okay, I’ll talk to him about moving. That is if you’re serious about me moving in here. And don’t mind replacing the couch with a futon or pull-out or something because _ow_.” Church rubs his neck and tries to crack it so that maybe it’ll relieve some of the pain he’s feeling.

“I am serious, and that’s fine, I wouldn’t make you sleep on the couch. If anything, you can share the bed with me.” And did Church really hear right? He wasn’t sure if he should be laughing, if Wash is joking. But Wash isn’t laughing and he looks pretty sincere.

Church laughs nervously, bowing his head so that he could focus on the food in front of him. Shoveling his face with food is always a good distraction from how hot his cheeks are getting right now at the thought of sharing a bed with Wash. What the fuck was he even worried about, anyway? It would probably be more comfortable than the couch and if he could ignore the fact that it’s Wash he might actually get a good night’s sleep tonight.

“Did you want to take a look at those files you got for me?” Church hopes that changing the subject will be enough indication that he doesn’t want to go there. Of course who knows what will happen after the sun goes down when all Church wants is a good night’s sleep and not to be woken up by a very active tabby.

“Oh, right, the USB and stuff. Yeah, maybe we can figure out where those came from at the very least. You said some of the images and names seemed familiar to you but you can’t think of why?”

Church nods at Wash’s question, his mouth currently filled to the brim of food. His face is mostly back to its natural color and Wash has not mentioned anything or teased Church about what he likely just witnessed, something for which Church is quite grateful since it would only make matters worse, and probably drive Church back to dealing with Donut. The lesser of two evils or some shit like that.

“There was something else, too, a phrase I know I’ve heard before. “Memory is the key.” What could that mean? What memory of mine could be the key? I have a shitty memory, everyone knows that.” If the package hadn’t been addressed to Church, he would have been absolutely certain that it was sent to the wrong person for that and that alone.

“Maybe you’re repressing something?” Wash suggests. Church shoots him a look that clearly communicates _You’ve gotta be kidding me._ “What? If you’re recognizing names and faces but not sure why, it could be a repressed memory.”

Wash does have a point, but Church still isn’t sure. He’s a pretty young guy, and his memory may be shitty but if anything he is forgetful, not repressing horrible memories or anything.

“So...you didn’t get any anonymous packages or anything?” Church really is a master of getting the subject away from him.

“Not yet, but who knows?” Wash grabs the empty dishes and after they are neatly placed in the dishwasher, the pair retreat to Wash’s bedroom where his computer is located. The manila folders containing the files he had to discreetly steal back from Church’s apartment are sitting next to the computer. They have not been touched, as Church has been trying to avoid this for long as possible. “So, which of these evoked the strongest memories?”

Church grabs the file for Lavernius Tucker and hands it to Wash. He isn’t expecting any sort of reaction. After all, if this really is repressed memory bullshit then there wouldn’t be any connection, right? It isn’t like Church and Wash knew each other prior to this weird turn of events.

But there it is, Church knows that look of recognition. He knows because that is the way Church reacted when he saw Tucker’s picture for the first time. Only this, this is much stronger. Church narrows his eyebrows, wondering what could possibly connect this guy to the both of them.

“I’ve seen him before, I know I have. But I can’t remember where. Maybe we went to school together? I don’t know, but there has to be something that connects the three of us, otherwise why would we remember him, right?” There’s Washington, always trying to come up with logical explanations to weird situations. Like how Wash tried to explain off Donut’s weird behavior, to which Church replied, “Dude, nobody in the entire frickin’ world acts like that, come on.”

“If we both know him then maybe Connie knows what’s going on. She’s the only thing that connects us, I can’t think of any other possible reason for this.” Church regrets bringing Connie up almost immediately. Church has had the time to get over her, although he does still pine for her every now and then. But Wash? It’s clear he’s still got some sort of feelings for her.

The look on Wash’s face is heartbreaking, and all Church can do to comfort Wash is place a hand on Wash’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. After all this time that he has spent getting to know the other man, he wonders how anyone could hurt the guy. Church? Well, he probably deserved it. But hurting Wash seems somewhat akin to kicking a puppy.

He knows if he came across Connie now, he would give her a piece of his mind, not even for what she did to Church, but for what she did to Wash.

“We don’t have to contact her if you don’t want to. You want to take a look at what’s on the flash drive first?” Church’s hand has not left Wash’s shoulder, not even when he reaches into his pajama pants pocket where he has been keeping it safe. He knows Wash’s apartment is just fine, but he has gotten a little paranoid after the recognition of these apparent strangers.

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Wash agrees, and Church goes to insert the USB key into the computer when he recognizes the sensation of another hand resting on top of his own. Washington isn’t exactly someone that Church had pegged as being the sort of guy to elicit such a strong response from, and yet he was mildly aware of the sudden feeling like there was no air left in his lungs, as if he were pushed into a vacuum. He fully ignores it, even going so far as to denying that feeling’s existence, but he also makes no attempt to move his hand from Wash’s shoulder, or to pull away from the additional contact.

Better to focus on the task at hand and worry about whatever the fuck this was later.

“Okay, so I see the memory is the key thing. What are these things? They look like mock ups for some kind of weaponry. And armor to boot.” Wash has apparently gotten the idea that they should focus on putting these pieces together, since he has made no attempts to draw attention to the fact that he was seated in front of his computer with Church hunched over him. Although he does stealthily guide Church’s hand off his shoulder and Church has to hand it to him, the guy is smooth as fuck. If Church were into that kind of thing...

Because of course he’s _not_. And this is _Wash_ and he needs to stop distracting himself from this mission at hand and worry about whatever Wash was doing to him later.

“I can see there’s a sniper rifle in there, but a more more advanced version. A lot of the other things I can’t recognize. But then again I haven’t exactly enlisted in the army so who knows what kind of shit they’ve got going on there. Also not sure what UNSC stands for, I tried googling it but nothing made sense.” He reaches for the mouse to double click on the folder he has yet to open, because a computer folder with his name on it can’t possibly hold anything good, especially when coupled with all the other shit that was sent to him.

There are quite a few jpegs, and when the pair look at the contents of these photographs, it’s enough to make Church’s hair stand on end. There is something so eerily familiar about all of this, almost like Church has memories relating to this project, but they were stored away in a locked safe, too dangerous for this world.

“Hey, isn’t that...?” Wash asks, and Church is one step ahead of him. He double clicks on a picture marked “Freelancers.jpeg” and there’s a photo of the group of them without helmets. “Either I have a doppelganger...”

“Or you and Connie were both part of some special ops force. Is there something you want to tell me?” Church asks, just as perplexed as Wash apparently is. The way Wash’s grip on Church’s hand tightens, though, Church is certain that it is genuine surprise.

“I don’t want to, but I know we have to, now. Do you think we can track her down? If she sent this to us...”  
 Church exits out of the picture viewer and removes the USB key. He wonders if there will ever be a place safe enough for it, wonders what would happen if those blueprints fall in the wrong hands. His head is swimming with all this information and he knows they have only cracked the surface. And unfortunately the person who apparently holds all the cards happens to be the same person that drove them together. Maybe, Church muses, it was deliberate, her conniving. After all, if it weren’t for Connie, Church and Wash wouldn’t be perched together like this. Which is beginning to get less and less weird as time goes by, but also the less Church’s mind is distracted, the more he has to confront the reality of the situation.

“I’ll do my best. But can we worry about that later? I think I’ve had enough mindfucking for one day.” He holds the USB key up in his free hand, slips it between his index and middle fingers and points it at Wash. “You want to keep this somewhere safe? And then I guess I can’t put off getting dressed...if I want to make it back home to pick up my things and let Donut know what’s going on.” Which is the last thing Church wants to do, although it will be a lot less painful if Wash is accompanying him to help.

Wash accepts the USB key in his hand and slips his other hand away from Church. Church is mildly aware of how much colder his hand is without Wash’s warming it up. He never thought he would miss that sensation so quickly.

“Please tell me you won’t be wearing the same clothes you wore yesterday,” Wash responds, narrowing his eyes with a look that seems to say. As if Wash would be embarrassed to be seen with Church even though nobody else would tell that Church has now been switching between two different outfits by now.

“Hey, if you want to loan me some clothes, by all means. I didn’t think I’d be staying this long, or I would’ve planned on bringing more clothes!” He doesn’t mean it negatively at all, and hopes Wash doesn’t think he regrets staying this long. After all, Church wants to move in with the fucker, that should say it all right there.

Wash seems to contemplate Church’s response and huffs dramatically before tearing through his wardrobe and tossing a few choice items in Church’s direction. Church watches with amusement as various t-shirts and a couple different pairs of jeans land at his feet, waiting until Wash is most definitely done before beginning to inspect.

Church opens his mouth to say something, but before he can even make a sound, Wash interrupts him with, “Fuck _no_ you are not borrowing my underwear. You can go out and buy more of that or wait until we get your clothes to change.” Church can’t resist letting out a loud laugh at that.

“As if I was going to suggest you should lend me a pair, anyway,” Church responds, poking Wash in the chest. He grabs a pair of jeans and holds them up to himself, trying to guess if they will fit. “Do you have any belts? As much as I’m _sure_ you would enjoy it, I’m not looking to flash everyone.”

And while Wash has his back turned, pushing various hangers aside, Church peels off his shirt and steps out of the pajama pants, kicking them aside before turning away from Wash and placing one foot inside each pant leg. Surprisingly, when he zips them, he finds that they actually aren’t as loose as he expected. While he doesn’t need a belt, using one probably wouldn’t hurt.

“Oh, they actually, uh. They fit you pretty well,” Wash comments, and Church, still without a shirt on, spins around. If his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him, he’s pretty sure that’s a flush of color on his cheeks. Being his usual egotistical self, he just smirks and takes his sweet ass time to pull the muscle tank over his shirt.

“Yeah, who knew you’re almost my size, hm?” Church muses and further tortures Wash by flexing his muscles. “So, shall we go so I can apologize to Donut for being an asshole and start this moving business?”

“Yes,” Wash’s voice cracks, and he clears his throat and looks everywhere else in his room but at Church. Church just chuckles to himself and shakes his head. He should probably feel worse about blatantly torturing Wash, and while there is something in his conscience telling him he should stop being such a jackass, it’s just _too damn easy_.

￼￼￼★★★

As it turns out, Donut isn’t at all surprised to hear that Church wants to move out. Which makes Church feel like an idiot for waiting so long to arrange for this. But he also didn’t think he would have a place to go until recently. So when the pair return from Church’s apartment with a few boxes full of Church’s things and a promise to return for the rest in a couple of days, Church writes this off as a success.

It is an even bigger success since the entire time, Church hadn’t thought of the crazy shit that is going down, not one single time. Church definitely didn’t think of Connie, and he is pretty sure neither did Wash. In fact, Church is pretty sure Wash has forgotten all about the files that are currently hiding in his bedroom. He hopes for Wash’s sake, no for both their sakes that they can keep that going for a little while longer.

“This is probably the worst segue in the history of segues,” Wash begins, and Church realizes he has been tuning Wash out for the past five minutes. He isn’t really all that sorry when Wash continues. “But uh, yeah rent. I don’t know how you paid Donut, and while I have been able to pay on my own, it’d be nice to get a hand. If doesn’t even have to be split down the middle, you know?”

Church’s face falls. Right, money issues. Donut’s apartment was tiny and compared to that, Wash’s is like a fucking penthouse. He is pretty sure that the rent he was paying Donut each month is nothing in comparison to what he would have to pay Wash if they really were splitting it down the middle.

“Yeah, you know how I work at home? I don’t...exactly make _all that much,_.” It’s a comfortable lifestyle, but not all that glamorous, and it means Church doesn’t have to dress up for work. He can wear whatever the fuck he wants. He doesn’t want to have to get another job just to afford living with Wash. Perhaps he should have thought of this earlier.

“Like I said, whatever you can scrape together. Even if it’s whatever you paid Donut. Even if you chip in on the groceries every once in a while, too. Fuck if I care, but I don’t want to be paying for two mouths to feed _and_ full rent. Three mouths, if you count Epsilon.”

As if on cue, the cat plops himself down on Church’s lap. He glances up at Wash, who seems to think it’s the cutest fucking thing in the world. Church rolls his eyes at that look on Wash’s face and reluctantly starts petting his head. And, okay, Church may be a self-absorbed asshole for the most part, but he isn’t immune to the heart-melting powers of an entirely too comfortable fuzzball. The moment the cat starts purring and nuzzling into his hand, his face softens and, what, is that a grin? No, dammit, Church is _not_ that guy. But then he feels the couch dip next to him and Wash is next to him, helping dote on the feline friend.

“He likes being scratched right here.” Wash’s voice is soft, clearly trying to avoid disrupting Epsilon from his oncoming slumber, and he guides Church’s hand with his own. Church most definitely doesn’t feel that cliche warmth emanating from the spot where Wash is touching him and nope, this is definitely not happening. He feels stuck, since he is not about to get up and force Epsilon off his lap when he is so clearly comfortable, but he wants to get away from Wash and whatever Wash is...doing to him. Because this is clearly Wash’s fault.

Clearly Church cannot possibly have _any_ reason to feel these kinds of things towards Wash.

It feels suddenly as if Church’s throat is dry, which in turn makes it harder to swallow. The cat has clearly dozed off with Church scratching behind his ear and all Church can do is focus on the fact that Wash’s hand is _still_ on his. He turns to protest, to say something to cut through this uncomfortable silence and go back to the way things were before all of this got weird. Although, maybe weird is a bad term for this. It’s not weird, just...different. The kind of different Church isn’t sure he can even complain about. It’s just taking a lot longer to adjust to. Too many thoughts are rushing through Church’s head and his usual reaction is to run from the situation, but he can’t. He won’t. Not this time.

“If you want me to back off...” It appears Wash is a bit of a mind reader, or perhaps he has learned how to read Church’s expressions by now. Whatever it is, Church is grateful for it.

Although faced with a way out, that is the coward’s choice, and Church knows deep down he would regret the outcome of that path. No, honesty is the key here. _Memory is the key_. No, Church pushes that thought away, because he most certainly isn’t ruining this on account of the weird space shit that’s cropping up.

“It’s not that, this is just...new. That’s all,” Church manages to speak up when he remembers how to swallow like a normal person, when his throat stops being so damn dry. “When did you...?”

“A week after Connie left. I didn’t do anything, though, because, well. You know, it’s hard to really move on if you just try to replace her.” _He had to be sure_ , is what Church is hearing. That this wasn’t just an attempt to find happiness with someone that reminds him of Connie, or to get back at her.

And when it comes down to it, Church wouldn’t exactly have been receptive to it at all if Wash had tried anything back then.

“Huh. I’m apparently blind as can be, or you’re really good at hiding it.” Church manages a wry smile, although somehow just looking at Wash, knowing that he is laying himself, his feelings out there, softens the smile into one with a lot more honesty behind it. Who knew the bottled blond had the ability to do that to him?

“So, just so we’re abundantly clear, you’re okay with this?” As impatient as Church is (and knows he will get, if he’s thinking down the line) he is impressed that Wash is that considerate. If it were Church, he would have gone barreling in with guns ablaze, which would probably have resulted in absolute failure with any other person. So he’s sort of glad that it’s Wash.

Church resists the urge to roll his eyes and gives a simple nod in response.

Wash doesn’t move in for the kill right away. He takes the hand that has just been lightly grasping Church’s wrist and splays it gently so each finger is spread slightly apart, with the heel of his hand beneath Church’s jaw and the tips of his fingers above his cheekbones. Again, there’s that warmth that he has come to associate with Wash. It’s insane that he can’t even think of anyone else creating this much heat with such a simple touch. Not Connie, not anyone.

Somewhere along his mental musings, Wash leans in and there are lips covering lips, a gesture that is over far too quickly in Church’s opinion. And so he makes this abundantly clear by tugging the collar of Wash’s shirt to pull him back in for a second kiss. This one he knows he will remember perfectly, from the subtle taste of chocolate on his lips (they had ice cream on their way to Donut’s, because Church needed to stall just a little bit longer) right down to the smell of what he is guessing is Wash’s cologne. And Epsilon has clearly gotten the idea because he has hopped off of Church’s lap and pattered off to whatever it is cats do while their owners are busy.

Time has a funny way of speeding up and slowing down when we least expect it. For Church, that kiss feels like it lasted forever. Although when they finally pull away, not much time has passed at all. Which in his mind means more time for stolen kisses, but he can tell Wash has other more boring ideas for how to finish out the night. Like feeding the damn cat and making dinner.

Although, now that Church really thinks about it, that cat’s not all that bad.

And perhaps later that night, the cat doesn’t _really_ keep Church laying awake, but it gives him the perfect excuse to slip into Wash’s bedroom and nudge further to the side to give Church enough room to share the bed.

“Really?” Wash mumbles sleepily.

“Really,” Church replies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. As you can see, it is ginormous in comparison to the others. Uh, Church is a very loud muse. VERY LOUD.


	10. Tucker

Four days have passed since Caboose let himself into his apartment, and four nights of roughly the same dream. The same, in that it was always the same cast of characters, but the location was different. A different alien planet (at least, he assumed it was alien, since he is quite sure none of these places exist on Earth from his limited knowledge of earthly landscapes), and different events would take place, but he recognizes the people. Sometimes it’s not all of them, sometimes they change, but he remembers the two from his first dream, and one or the other are always constantly on his mind.

When he wakes up, he never remembers what happens, he just remembers those faces. By now, the vague impressions have been amplified tremendously. He knows if he had a police sketch artist draw them, they would come out as a vivid copy instead of just a blurry rendition.

But he can never get a hold of their names. And he never brings it up to York, because he does not want to have to admit that, yeah, that girl he’s been dreaming back is _very_ much taken.

But then he gets a phone call from York, and it changes everything.

“Tucker, you need to come over, I know, I know we’re both scheduled to work tonight, but there’s something we...I! There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Tucker is fairly certain that York just got punched in the arm by someone since he can hear another feminine voice.

“I’m kind of babysitting someone at the moment. And by babysitting I mean he’s a grown ass man that can’t be trusted in my apartment on my own. Is there anyway you can come _here_?” Because it’s bad enough knowing Caboose can break into his apartment, he doesn’t need to know what else he is capable of breaking without supervision.

“Fine, fine. Text me the address, I’ll be over soon.” And Tucker is pretty sure as he hangs up and hesitates to press send that York is going to be joined by a lady. But whatever, the more the merrier at this point. If it means not having to focus on Caboose and finding a way to get him out of his apartment, who is he to complain?

“Tucker! Tuuuucker. TUCKER!” Tucker groans when he hears his name and he knows he is going to regret what Caboose is about to tell him.

“What the fuck Caboose? I was on the phone! And I swear to god, you better be cool, I’m about to have company.” Tucker isn’t sure how it’s possible for Caboose to look both like he lost his puppy and that he accidentally set a house on fire, but that is about the sort of look that Caboose is displaying at the moment.

“You have mail!” He shoves a package at Tucker, who looks at it, perplexed. The mail isn’t due for another hour at least. Where the hell did this come from if Caboose found it anyway?

Tucker just shrugs and opens it using a Swiss army knife. Rummaging through everything is not terribly exciting, at least at first. But then he notices Church, the lanky one from his dreams, and suddenly it’s like the air has gotten incredibly hot and the hair on the back of his neck is standing up. This must be like what it feels like to see a ghost.

“Oh, that looks just like the man I saw at the club!” Caboose says nonchalantly.

“When were you at a club...?” Tucker asks, confused as to how Caboose could have seen the same guy that he dreamt about and not feel this same sort of recognition.

“When I was in Seattle last week.” Tucker never did bother to ask Caboose what he did that had him traveling all over the country, and he really ought to find that out at some point, but he’s more interested in knowing more about this guy.

“This man you saw, did you happen to get his name?” He’s pretty sure that he knows the answer before he even finishes the question. Caboose is not reliable at all. Sure, he has his moments, those moments of clarity when everyone is surprised that Caboose is capable of handling an adult life with adult responsibilities, but for the most part, everyone just wonders how he graduated from high school and get a job.

“No, I did not get to ask him his name, he looked like he was in pain, I did not want to bother him.” In pain? The fuck did Caboose do to him? Of course, he shouldn’t assume that Caboose had something to do with the guy being in pain, but it’s an honest question. Caboose has been known to be the culprit in similar situations before, although always by accident, even Tucker has to admit. He’s never intentionally hurt anyone.

“Well, Seattle, okay, that gives us a lead at least.” When Tucker turns the page and sees a man with a darker skin complexion and dark hair with an orange streak through it, almost like a skunk. Something about that orange rings a similar feelings of familiarity, only instead of that prickling heat, it makes him sick to his stomach. It’s almost as if the air has completely left the room, leaving Tucker gasping and he quickly shuts the folder so that he doesn’t see the guy’s face anymore.

“Come to think of it, he looked a lot like that!” Caboose announces, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the guy in that picture, the one from Tucker’s dream clearly recognized Caboose.

“We need to go to Seattle,” Tucker responds as soon as he gets his breath back.

“Glad we’re on the same page,” a voice pipes up from the doorway.

When Tucker shoves the makeshift barricade out of the way, York steps into his apartment, he’s accompanied by that redhead from Errera that was very much not alone.

And there’s a name at the very tip of Tucker’s tongue, a name he’s not sure how he had managed to forget until now.  “Carolina.”

“So you _do_ remember,” she has her hips cocked out to the side and exudes that same sense of confidence that Tucker remembers so well.

“Uh...am I missing something? How do you two know each other?” York asks, and of course, as Carolina knows well, the two never crossed paths before York was killed.

“He and I worked together at one point,” Carolina explains. “That’s not important. What is important is that we need to find Connie and round up Wash. I think it’s very important that we get the hell away from this place, I don’t trust it one bit. And I’d like to find Maine and spring him loose.”

Although Tucker doesn’t remember one hundred percent, things are starting to make sense. He turns to Caboose to see if he is following any of this, but Caboose looks incredibly confused. He clearly has no idea what is going on.

“Caboose, I’m going to need you to trust me. I don’t have time to explain, but we need to leave, and you need to come with us. Can you do that without asking a million annoying questions?”

He raises his hand and Tucker instantly regrets even trying to clue him into what is going on. This is clearly not going to be easy.

“What is it, Caboose?” Tucker asks exasperatedly.

“What if I have to go to the bathroom? I am not very good at road trips, I get car sick, this is probably not a good idea, maybe I should just stay here.”

York gives both Carolina and Tucker a look that is somewhere between amusement and “what the fuck is with this guy?” Tucker just shakes his head and drops his head against his palms. This...is going to be a long trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally found the time and energy to write! Hopefully there won't be as long a gap in between updates, so sorry about that folks.
> 
> Also totally had to patch up an almost plot hole in this chapter, so I'm glad I was able to work around that (yeah, definitely forgot I had placed Caboose somewhere else before he ended up annoying Tucker, but this actually worked out better than my original idea).


End file.
